Truth or Flare
by potatosaurusrex
Summary: This story contains elements of real wrestling, fake wrestling, fan fiction, Kid Icarus: Uprising, Killing Floor, Pokemon, Game Grumps, Kill la Kill, and probably some other shit. It is a complete and utter mess and I highly recommend not reading this unless you are familiar with VGCW: ARENA. Doing so could result in permanent brain damage. Probably. ANYWAY ECH.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey Arrrrin, you want to play Truth or Dare?"

"No. I hate Truth or Dare."

"Come on Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrin, you know you want to play with me."

"No Jon, I'm not gonna play."

"Come on _Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrin_ , why don't you want to play?"

"This game isn't Mega Man X, I hate it. It's trash."

"Come on Arrrr-"

" **No Jon.** "

"But Arin, this game has great game feel!"

"No. I hate all games, video or actual. I can't handle the many different dimensions of Turth or Dare, because it has more than two, and that's as many as a game needs, like Mega Man X, the pinnacle of games. The conversation mechanics never work, everyone always gives me funny looks because the human emotions engine was programmed poorly. The bottle's RNG is always rigged against the player, and the side quests are all garbage. Overall, zero out of ten. Would not play, Jon."

"Oh yeah? Well, Arin, you're a -5/10 who took too long to get to the actio-"

The small talk was broken by the sound of shattering glass. Arin Hanson had taken his glass bottle filled with murky alcohol and sorrows and smashed it over the fat bearded man's head. He grabbed Jon by the front of his shirt, hoisting up the man's grossly misproportioned body to meet his own, face to face.

" **Say it again, Jon.** "

Jon Jafari looked upon the many chins of his friend, Arin Hanson. Knowing better than to mess with him in a drunken stupor, Jon simply threw his hands up in surrender. Arin vomited a little on his shirt before dropping him on the ground. Arin slumped back to the curb he sat upon, scratching his neck beard. His lack of judgement replacing his common courtesy, Arin reached into his fifth chin, rummaging around within his skin folds. He pulled out a half-eaten roast beef sandwich. Without looking at it, Arin haphazardly shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

"Palutena's going to be there."

Arin stopped grinding the stale bread and rotten roast beef in his mouth. He looked at Jon with an eagerness in his eyes that Jon hadn't seen in a long time. It was a look of encouragement, as if the world had once again gained meaning. Jon hadn't seen that rekindled romantic look since… well, Jon didn't want to bring up those times. Those very dark times. Times of boundless lust and unbridled youth. Warm summer days and long, cold nights, lying awake. Thinking. Dreaming. Yearning for a love he couldn't reclaim.

"You mean… _she'll_ be there?"

"Yeah."

Arin leapt to his feet and dramatically looked off in the distance. He whispered under his breath, as though he had discovered all of the world's earthly secrets. The words he uttered were words of emotion. Hope. Hope for a better life.

"Muh waifu…"

Jon smiled. "So you'll be there?"

"For her."

"Echcellent."


	2. Chapter 2: Reveangeance

"What's wrong?" Arin asked. His face showed no actual emotion of care, he was merely attempting to feign his concern in hopes that Jon would grow tiresome of his behavior and leave. Arin wished to be left alone to his whiskey. As his fat, sausage-like fingers graced the grizzle of his neck-beard, he sunk further into the dirty sofa he was slouched over in. It was a ratty piece, vomit green and riddled with holes.

"Maaaaaan, Arin, none of the girls at this party want to get in some... you know... _the stuff_..." Jon mumbled, accentuating his last remark by bouncing his eyebrows up and down upon his sunken face. He plopped his fat ass down upon the sofa, too.

"Jon, keep it in your pants, you sick, delusional, homeless shit."

"Arin, that's you."

"O-O-Oh yeah, that's r-right." Arin tripped, stumbling over his own words through the slog of alcohol.

Jon began to count off the numerous females at the party in his mind and on his hand. There was that green-haired chick that was all over his best friend Arin for unknown reasons that irked him deeply, making her an unfit candidate for companionship. Mary Sue was here. They'd dated a while back, but Jon knew deep down he couldn't match her perfection, and he'd also grown tired of hearing her constant ramblings on her tragic backstory. Then there were those two anime chicks. Both Ryuko and Nonon seemed nice enough, in that they hadn't run away when first seeing him. Jon figured he'd have at least a semblance of a chance with that one wearing the lewd clothing, despite the fact that Jon was relatively convinced she was lacking a few Nuts and Bolts after he had caught her talking to her clothes.

"H-Hey Jon."

"Yeah, Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrin?"

"Could... could you... uh, could, uh... how about, you, and... uh..."

"Go ahead Arin, slow down."

Arin vomited a little bit on his shirt before continuing. "I... I think we should... play... Truth or Dare... like... in a little... bit I think..."

Jon's expression lit up. " **Of course!** " he cried. "Arin, you're a genius!" For the first time that night at his own birthday party, Jon was enjoying himself.

Arin slumped over to the other side of the couch and began to groan loudly. He pulled out a plush doll of Mega Man X and began to squeeze it tight to his body, shutting his eyes in a futile attempt to make the pain go away, to relieve himself of the emptiness that he couldn't fill with his alcohol.

Jon knew that plush all too well. It reeked of stale urine and sweat. It was missing a leg. It had been used for... _ungodly things_. Shivering, Jon got up and left the couch, knowing Arin Hanson would continue to cuddle the plush for a few hours. That bought him time to try and romance the ladies. He straightened his bright orange tie and spit into his hand, slicking his hair back in the process. Jon considered putting pants on, but he figured the tie and stained white v-neck would be enough. Jon knew that the girls go crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man. He walked over to the doorway of the kitchen, leaning up against it, looking on at his party and its guests.

"Good evening, _lllllllllllllllllllladies."_


End file.
